Resolutions (received, rational and rather rapturous)
by The Readers Muse
Summary: He woke much like an afterthought. Without startlement or any significant form of duress. It was simply a fluid state of being, transferring itself from one extreme to the other. In this case, it was the dead of sleep to full alertness in less time than he'd previously considered possible.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I don't own "Downton Abby." Everything belongs to whoever owns them, my wishful thinking aside.

 **Authors Note #1:** Well, it's been more than a year and my brain finally said, 'hey, you know that random fic we wrote a thousand years ago? Sequel time!' - Sir Anthony is a newly awakened Sentinel: (a person with enhanced senses) And Edith is his newly discovered Guide: (a person that helps a Sentinel control their gifts and keep them from 'zoning' or hyper-focusing on one sense and thus vulnerable.) The connection or bond between a Sentinel and Guide is a soul deep and almost spiritual thing that is generally considered pre-destined. Much like the soul-bond/one-love trope. *In this version Sentinels don't come online until they meet their Guide, the person best suited to help them balance these abilities – essentially the other half of their soul. Neither Sentinel nor Guide can come online until they are at least twenty years of age. So, essentially, when Sir Anthony visits Downton in 1x05, this is the first time an encounter would have resulted in them being matched as Edith is at least twenty years old in 1912.

 **Disclaimer:** Sequel to "Preconceptions (preconceived, prejudice or just plain puzzled)" and takes place almost immediate after that story finished. – Contains: period appropriate behavior/language/thoughts/actions/etc, animal traits/behaviors, romantic intimacy and sensuality.

 **Resolutions (received, rational and rather rapturous)**

 _ **Chapter One**_

He woke much like an afterthought. Without startlement or any significant form of duress. It was simply a fluid state of being, transferring itself from one extreme to the other. In this case, it was the dead of sleep to full alertness in less time than he'd previously considered possible.

For a long moment it was almost too much.

It felt like the recoil of shotgun blast lingering far too long in the bones. Filling _everything_ with an incessant buzzing that spread itself through his nervous system by way of the blood. Flooding through him as a cacophony of sensation and stimuli fell on him at once. The fineness of the weave in the sheets under his naked back. Her scent thick in the air – sadly fading. The clattering of pots and pans drifting up from the kitchens. The low murmur of raucous laughter. The tart of a coming rain dancing across his tongue despite being certain that it was a clear day outside. The grating _scrape-ssscrape_ of a metal tool cutting through tired soil. The lowing of cattle from fields miles away.

He could _hear_ all of it.

 _Feel_ all of it.

 _Taste_ all of it.

 _Smell_ all of it.

Almost as if he was there himself.

Inches away and-

An awareness that was not his own - feminine, yet firm - nudged into his mind then. Hesitant, like she was still unsure of her welcome, before rushing over him like cool water aiming to snuff out a threatening blaze. Covering him over in a gentle surge. Soothing every frayed edge. Every rumpled bit of him that was threatening to crease. Calming the growing frantic beat of his heart with the strength of her own until his senses dulled, then leveled out. Forced in-line by his Guide's attention and open love.

 _Edith._

Guide.

He exhaled, forcibly. Shuddering as his unruly senses calmed. Eventually getting a hold of himself so that he could finally blink up at the unfamiliar bedroom canopy. The sordid events of the night before thrumming through him as the scent of his Guide surrounded him like a balm.

 _Well, then._

 _It wasn't exactly what he'd expected out of his dinner invitation, that was for certain!_

He cast his senses out, tentatively searching. Finding her effortless in a room clear across the house. Mostly quiet as her elder sister, mother, grandmother and what sounded like at least three household servants spoke in mock whispers. He focused on them long enough to ensure she was alright - something in him relaxing in increments as the beat of her heart and the scent of her remained steady and unagitated - before giving them back the sanctity of their privacy. Finding himself strangely reluctant to do so, despite it being completely improper. At loath to give her up in any sense, before a familiar gait coming up the closest set of stairs caught his attention.

He'd barely begun to sit up in bed, looking about the room in hopes of finding at least one salvageable bit of his clothing before James, his man servant, knocked on the door.

"Come," he answered with a sigh. Deciding there was nothing else for it as he allowed the sheets to puddle in his lap. Trying not to let himself be bothered by the state of the room, very much aware that Edith's corset was still caught against the fire-grate like the stage-set bedroom of some scandalous Gothic romance.

"Good morning, sir. Heard you had quite the night then?" James opened, unflappable as usual as he entered the room with a large suitcase and his usual wan smile. "Mr. Carson took the liberty of calling down to the estate early this morning. I believe they decided that you might like a bit of familiarity when you woke up."

He nodded. Pleased beyond words at the thoughtfulness.

"Quite right too, it's a relief to see you, James," he answered honestly. Part of him aware that he was committing everything about the man to memory. The honest scent of him. The niggle of well hidden anxiety that was already lessening by the moment. The sound of fabric rasping as his usual attire rubbed against the threads of the thin under layer he wore underneath. Apparently perpetually chilled despite the warmth of the season.

"And you, sir," his manservant replied, just as warmly. Having the advantage of knowing each other for decades and thus sharing an understand that most Lords could not boast when it came to those that served them. "The rest of the staff will be grateful to have you home, I must say. They're quite worried, sir."

He nodded, considering the idea before glancing off towards the window. Frowning a bit at the angle of the sun before putting his suspicions to voice.

"What time is it?"

"Just past mid-day, sir," James remarked smoothly, like there was nothing unusual or particularly obscene about sleeping well past noon. "Mr. Carson told me you were quite tied in, and it was Doctor Clarkson's express wish that you were not to be disturbed. They will be sending for him directly, I should think."

"Good god!" he exclaimed, rubbing tiredly at his eyes before turning back to face him. "Mid-day?"

"I hope you'll forgive the presumption, my lord. But by the look of it, you needed the rest," James remarked bluntly as he crossed over to the closet and pulled out a small, collapsible suit rack. Carefully smoothing out a good half-dozen of his finer suits for his inspection before leaning down to pick up his abandoned suit-jacket - creased and slightly torn into by a combination of the restraints, his own actions and perhaps even the enthusiasm of his Guide - with an unhappy twitch of his mustache.

"I brought a selection, sir. I was unsure of how you wished to mark the occasion."

He eyed the crisp line of suits. Wondering at the question himself as flashes from the night before reminded him of how complicated his predicament truly was. He'd never considered the idea that he could be Sentinel, nor a Guide for that matter. He'd always been, simply put, _him._ Unassuming, uncomplicated, Sir Anthony Statton.

He'd married well, of course. But he and his late wife had not been blessed with children. No matter, they'd had each other and had been content to spoil her brother's veritable legion of children like they were their own. He'd coveted their quiet life. Enjoying his middling position in the world of status and class. Important enough to note, but not important enough to be consistently bothered either. Having the opportunity to be a little bookish, enough that some called him dull, mixed with just a bit of daring. Insisting on learning to drive and impressing upon himself the raw, independent pleasure of it as he drove himself around the countryside without much in the way of reproach.

Indeed, he'd been well pleased with his life - despite his loneliness.

Now all that was about to change.

"And how should I mark such an occasion?" he asked softly. More to himself than anything as he slowly swung himself towards the side of the bed. Body aching something fierce as his toes curled across the floor. Distantly remembering hearing something about Sentinels undergoing physical changes in term of muscle mass, agility and strength after their senses were activated. He sighed, aggressive. Tempted to be floored once again by how much his life was set to change - and indeed, quickly.

"Depends how you feel about it, sir."

"Like my world has changed without my consent, yet I cannot bring myself to regret a lick of it. Even though I know I should," he answered with a softly. Feeling remarkably brash as he found himself wanting to continue. Wanting to say that he _didn't_ deserve this. _Her._ That she deserved someone young and less jaded. Someone who could give her the breadth of their years and not just a selection. That he was, in a sense, stealing her away from the world and all it's potential pleasures by tying her to him this way. That it was criminal. And worse, he could barely bring himself to care.

He didn't realize he'd spoken it all aloud after all until James shocked him with a bold response.

"Is it still stealing if she _wants_ to be stolen, sir?"

Somewhere in a distant part of the house the snap of shuffling cards could be heard - at least by him - clear as day. Giving him the picture of two of the staff playing poker on an table in the servant's quarters.

"I suppose not," he allowed. At least not in the strictest definition of the word.

"Well then, sir. If you don't mind me saying so, you still sound exactly like yourself. …So, the pale grey jacket it is. Though, I do think the forest green pocket square might be handsome enough to compliment, if that pleases you?"

He didn't trust himself to speak after that. Instead, he just nodded. Steeling himself for the action as he finally rose to his feet. Ignoring his nakedness as the sheets fell away - hushing down the blue-veined pale of him in a rash of goose-flesh. Indicating he was ready to be dressed.

It was time to face what came next.

His life, as it was now, no matter how altered.

He had her, after all.

It seemed reason enough to brave it.

* * *

He sensed more than saw the dip of his manservant's throat the moment he turned his back. Allowing the warm, refreshing cloth he wet him down with to sooth the tension out of his muscles. Realizing the same moment James saw the clawed up canvas of his back, that the marks Edith had made in the height of their passion had likely not had a chance to fade.

"I have shocked you," he said quickly. Catching the hitching swallow that left James' throat before the man rallied himself. Deciding a bit of levity was in order as he forced his tone to teasing dryness and turned back around so he was facing him again. "I can assure you my honor did not go unchallenged."

He took it as a personal victory when the man's mustache twitched in grudging amusement.

* * *

"Does everyone know then?" he asked later, shaking the crisp sleeves of his white shirt down around his wrists as the man fussed about with his tie. Fastidious to a fault.

"I am sure there is a humble pig farmer in rural Canada that hasn't been made unaware, sir," James remarked blandly.

"Capital," he muttered, not without sarcasm. A muscle in his cheek pulling tight as what he'd feared fastly became an unavoidable reality. This would not be an easy transition. Not for either of them.

He was so distracted that he only noticed someone was approaching - getting a fragrant burst of savory smells and the hot pipe of his favorite tea – a moment before the knock sounded.

He waved James off to answer it. Suddenly starving as the smell of food became almost unbearably strong.

"Compliments of Mrs. Patmore, sir," Thomas told him. Vaguely familiar from the madness of the night before as he breezed into the room and set a heaping tray in front of him with a practiced smile. "You should see the state of the kitchens, sir. I don't think she's been so pleased in years. Mrs. Patmore and the others have been up for hours determined to cook enough for you. I'm told sentinels at least double or triple what they usually put away. Mr. Carson would be up himself to tend to you, but he was needed by the ladies. I'm to tell you that Doctor Clarkson has taken the liberty of speaking to both your own staff and ours, suggesting you stick to less complicated dishes until your senses level out. Mrs. Patmore was able to alter the majority to fit those requirements. So I hope this suits you."

"Please convey my appreciation," he answered, already tucking in. Not bothering to stand on ceremony as his stomach churned and he realized he was utterly ravenous. Imparting the rest between bites of an exquisite butter-flaked roll. "I will have to thank her personally. And, apparently watch my waist line."

Thomas smiled like flint, sharp and breakable. Not unaware that the young man's eyes were keen. Missing nothing as he looked about at the debris of the room with a brief dart before settling back on him again. Expression telling him nothing. Luckily he didn't need to rely on merely that anymore.

And what he sensed was that Thomas was a man to keep on one's good side. Where you would benefit from his good will as he considered you and your affairs with a friendly eye, rather than the latter. He was a man that craved advancement and prestige, but also disliked the cage servitude and society pressed upon him. _It was a dangerous mix, indeed._ He considered the matter quickly before deciding on a course of action.  
"I do hope that in the...distraction of last evening I didn't cause you any harm?" he opened carefully. Able to see grudging surprise flitter briefly across the man's face - come and gone between a blink – before smoothing back to impassiveness. "It's all rather muddled, I'm afraid. But I'm aware that I struggled rather hard against you. You are well, I trust?"

Thomas nodded.

"Quite well, sir. Thank you," the boy answered, undertone warming by the second. Like a root given just a spit of attention and sunlight. "You were not responsible for your actions. And in truth, Mr. Matthew got the worst of it. Mr. Carson and Lord Grantham were caught off guard, as well I. I have never known a gentleman to lose their brandy easily - especially one so fine - so I knew it had to be something serious."

"Still, no excuse for unbecoming behavior," he replied, morbidly curious about the details of the night before when seen through another's eyes. "You have my apologies, whatever they are worth. Though I do hope you view them in sincerity."

"Certainly, sir," Thomas answered, this time with a cautious but believable truth behind it. The predatory edge momentarily softened. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"

He hesitated. That was all it took for Thomas to interject.

"I do happen to know that Lady Edith is very well this morning, sir. And is currently in conference with the ladies. I believe wedding preparations are being discussed. ...Amongst other things. If that is of any interest."

He smiled. Something in him warming pleasantly as a part of him he didn't quite understand yet stretched out. Brushing over their connection like a caress. Feeling her respond briefly before he pulled away again.

"Thank you, Thomas. You may go."

He finished his meal in silence. Appreciating James quiet fussing as he set the room back to rights. Inconspicuously separating the clothing that could be salvaged and those that could not. Folding all of Lady Edith's things on the far corner of the bed for a maid to see to later. The corset, however, was left to it's solitude on the fire-gate. His manservant apparently deciding that the garment was too feminine in nature for masculine removal and best left alone.

Normally he would be mortified, but today?

Well, today was a different matter.

The rhythms of life were so very strange.

Just when you thought you were in for a downward slope, there was unexpected renewal.

* * *

 **A/N:** Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think. – There will be two more chapters, stay tuned.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I don't own "Downton Abby." Everything belongs to whoever owns them, my wishful thinking aside.

 **Authors Note #1:** Well, it's been more than a year and my brain finally said, 'hey, you know that random fic we wrote a thousand years ago? Sequel time!' - Sir Anthony is a newly awakened Sentinel: (a person with enhanced senses) And Edith is his newly discovered Guide: (a person that helps a Sentinel control their gifts and keep them from 'zoning' or hyper-focusing on one sense and thus vulnerable.) The connection or bond between a Sentinel and Guide is a soul deep and almost spiritual thing that is generally considered pre-destined. Much like the soul-bond/one-love trope. *In this version Sentinels don't come online until they meet their Guide, the person best suited to help them balance these abilities – essentially the other half of their soul. Neither Sentinel nor Guide can come online until they are at least twenty years of age. So, essentially, when Sir Anthony visits Downton in 1x05, this is the first time an encounter would have resulted in them being matched as Edith is at least twenty years old in 1912.

 **Disclaimer:** Sequel to "Preconceptions (preconceived, prejudice or just plain puzzled)" and takes place almost immediate after that story finished. – Contains: period appropriate behavior/language/thoughts/actions/etc, animal traits/behaviors, romantic intimacy and sensuality.

 **Resolutions (received, rational and rather rapturous)**

 _ **Chapter Two**_

"Sir Anthony, my lord wishes to speak with you in the library, at your convenience," Carson told him as he reached the bottom of the stairs. Already well prepared for some sort of paternal ambush before the man continued. "I trust your breakfast was satisfactory?"

"Indeed, your cook is to be commended," he answered, inclining his head the slightest of bits as his improved hearing was able to detect the sound of quiet footfalls mirroring theirs in the hall to the right. Female and light, but with an impudent edge that summoned up an image of the eldest girl, Lady Mary.

"She will be delighted, sir. This way, please."

Lord Grantham was civil and magnanimous when he was announced. But the mask slipped into a distant sort of seriousness almost as soon Carson left them alone. Tea and pastries left within easy reach as the door closed and the man set down his tea with a muted clatter.

"Let us be frank," Lord Grantham opened after a lengthy pause. Clearly taking his measure as he found himself doing the same. He'd never been the confrontational sort. But the man's censure and uncertainty was enough to have his hackles up already. Despite knowing full well that the breadth of his concerns were also his own and there was nothing either of them could do about it.

"That would definitely be appreciated," he returned bluntly. Shifting in his chair so that his taller frame loomed. Seeming to catch the Earl off guard by the rejoinder as the tart of anxiety and something else - something masculine and dark - filtered through the room in a growing, but completely invisible swirl of sensation.

"I believe my wife invited you here with the intention of setting you up with Mary," the man admitted, clearly reassessing his strategy. Something he'd likely spent hours conjuring up in his head now that his usual mood seemed altered. "I try to stay out of feminine scheming. Their affairs might seem small and of little consequence, but speaking as a man with three daughters, do trust me when I say they can be just as cut throat."

Reviewing the night in reverse made him realize that much was true. Finding it laughable, in hindsight, considering he hadn't noticed a lick of it. He'd been too wrapped up in his research and perhaps too enthusiastically sharing it to realize the careful placement of their chairs and the clear attention to detail that'd been made considering what he'd been told in the aftermath.

"Lady Mary is undoubtedly a lovely and quite fiery young woman," he started, knowing he had to be careful how he worded his thoughts while remaining true to both himself and the situation at hand. "And you will forgive me if I admit perhaps a bit too fiery for me. Besides she and Sir Matthew seem to get on quite well. So, I hear."

The man's expression softened. Almost fond. Clearly indicating that the Lady in question likely did have some redeeming qualities he'd not yet had the pleasure of experiencing. Able to recognize her scent around the great house with little difficulty. Over-brimming and unhappy, like a kettle perpetually near a boil.

"Much like a house fire," the man grumbled. Taking an overlarge sip of tea as if it might calm his nerves.

"I wouldn't worry, fire often needs some of the same to temper itself. Young people tend to sort these things out on their own, given time," he commented, before blinking and realizing he'd likely over stepped his bounds.

"Sorry, not quite sure where that came from frankly. I'm a bit out of sorts today, as you might imagine."

"I can understand," Lord Grantham returned, nodding soberly. "It's been a taxing time."

He thought about the rush of violence that had fueled him when the man had led the charge to hold him back. Remembering the almost animal hatred that had risen up, giving him strength he didn't know he possessed or was even capable of as he'd snarled and bared his teeth. Wanting to use his fists, his fingers, his _teeth_ to rip through them. To tear them down into parts so that nothing - _no one_ \- could ever keep him apart from his Guide again.

 _No, you don't. You couldn't possibly,_ he thought privately.

* * *

"When one has children there often seems to be one that suffers from inattention as they grow and age into their personalities. Edith was, I'm ashamed to admit, often that child. She learned to fend for herself and her interests early. Too early. The focus, and indeed pressure, has always been on Mary - being the eldest," Lord Grantham started again, giving him a coveted glimpse into a family dynamic he was only just beginning to understand.

"But last night, watching the both of you reach out as if you'd known the each other all your lives- struggling through a desperate sort of yearning that I know better than to try and understand. I realized I barely know my own daughter. My own flesh and blood and now- now you're sitting here. Wanting nothing more than to go to her, ready to take her away from her home and her family. You're old enough to be her own father and I ask you- I ask you how is that just? How can I know this is right for her when I am given so little choice in the matter?"

Grief tasted as foul and unsavory as it felt.

He should have expected that much, he supposed.

Something in his posture shifted as he forced himself to internalize every word. Able to tell exactly when the match in the maid's sooty palm finally took light in the health three rooms to the right. Able to differentiate the richness of the shushing hem of an afternoon dress passing through the landing and towards the main doors. Leaving a trail of pleasant smells behind as Lady Sybil, the youngest, headed out into the grounds for a walk.

"I cannot promise you I'll live long enough to fulfill her. Or that I can give her the life and children she desires- _deserves_ ," he answered slowly, clasping his hands as he rubbed them together faintly. The sensation suddenly too much like sandpaper to be palatable as he stopped abruptly. "I will not insult you by making a promise I cannot keep. But what I can do is assure you that for as long as I live she will be both cherished and loved. In short order she has become- that is to say- she means more to me than anything. More than my own life. She is my world now. There is no other way to describe it. She will never be overlooked again."

Lord Grantham's nod was decided, if not completely appeased. Mind made up, but clearly not completely happy with the outcome. Knowing as well as he did that there was nothing he could do about it. Sentinel and Guide unions were above reproach. Besides that, there was no other possible option when a Sentinel and Guide pair came online. It was bond or die. No matter who you were, or what state you entered it in, the outcome was always the same.

"Then let us say no more of it."

"No," he uttered, surprising both himself and Lord Grantham with the vehemence behind it.

"I don't believe you _do_ understand. Nor can possibly _begin_ to comprehend what she means to me. I knew the moment I saw her. Beyond sight, sound, smell or touch. It was inherent. Like for a single, solitary moment the vast mysteries of our universe were blindingly clear. She is the most important thing in my life and I didn't even know I was waiting on her. She is the _completing_ piece. The part that has made me whole when I didn't even know I was walking wounded. I have yet to see her today, but I feel her. _Here_ ," he issued, pressing at the center of his chest like the feeling was visceral to the naked eye. Feeling unsteady, powerful and completely unlike himself as fire coursed through him like he was being cleansed. "And I cannot describe that to you for the life of me. She came to me last night and _knew_ _me_. I didn't think such a thing was possible, not even for the realm of Sentinel and Guides. I didn't understand it, not until last night. It is a connection that goes beyond any sense of self. Even the most precious thing in this world pales in comparison to her, do you understand? I can't fathom the thought of being without her, not-"

He was shaking. Trembling with the power of the emotion as he abandoned his tea cup on the saucer for fear of losing control of it. Part of him aghast at being so forward. So open. While another stood strangely cathartic in the aftermath. Privately wondering if he'd even made a lick of sense as a strange, spreading warmth issued from the man across from him. Mellowing the moment until the man set his cup quietly atop his saucer as shifted in his chair.

"Good man," Lord Grantham told him, voice rough. Seeming to be caught up in a fit of emotion that he very much felt like sharing. Feeling bare and scraped close to raw as they cleared their throats conspicuously and busied themselves with the platter of pastries. "Good man."

* * *

It wasn't until she came to him in the parlor, pressing her hand against his cuffs with that shy, bold little smile he'd grown to love in such a short period of time, that all the anxiety he hadn't realized he'd been carrying filtered out of him like water through a bed of river rocks.

He had to force himself not to scent her right then and there, no matter who was watching. Finally having her in his sights as what felt like every female in the household settled across the couches and chairs in a clear warning. There would be no more impropriety until after the wedding. Sentinel and Guide or not. And judging by the twitching of her lips, she knew it too. Leaning in a fraction closer than proper as he all but trembled with the effort of not saying _to hell with it_ and tossing her over his shoulder for the privacy of one of the rooms above.

 _The little minx._

By the time he'd had his fill of her, he looked up and greeted the others. Having the distinct impression that he was quite late in doing so. Finding the allure of having his Guide at his side once more almost intoxicating. Committing every moment to memory as her pale blue frock _hu-hushed_ beside him.

Indeed, he felt remarkably settled.

 _Content._

It was an extraordinary concept.

"Forgive me, madam- ladies," he offered, giving the matriarchs their due before letting his gaze filter off to Lady Mary, Lady Grantham and Lady Isobel. "It has been a very singular collection of hours. Please allow me to convey my sincere apologies for any distress and discomfort my actions might have caused last evening."

Lady Grantham, inclined her head gracefully, about to speak before the Dowager Countess' grip firmed around her walking stick. Lips pursed. Giving him a rather involved up and down before nodding – as if in grudging approval of something he was not privy to.

"Indeed, sir. But enough of that, we have affairs to discuss that require at least a measure of your input. Or so I am told."

 _She didn't mean the wedding preparations, surely?_

Did he not have staff that was supposed to take care of that sort of thing?

Good heavens.

Edith's burble of silent amusement beside him seemed a fair prize as any, however.

But then again, perhaps he was bias in this regard.

* * *

 **A/N:** Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think. – There will be one more chapter, stay tuned.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** I don't own "Downton Abby." Everything belongs to whoever owns them, my wishful thinking aside.

 **Authors Note #1:** Well, it's been more than a year and my brain finally said, 'hey, you know that random fic we wrote a thousand years ago? Sequel time!' - Sir Anthony is a newly awakened Sentinel: (a person with enhanced senses) And Edith is his newly discovered Guide: (a person that helps a Sentinel control their gifts and keep them from 'zoning' or hyper-focusing on one sense and thus vulnerable.) The connection or bond between a Sentinel and Guide is a soul deep and almost spiritual thing that is generally considered pre-destined. Much like the soul-bond/one-love trope. *In this version Sentinels don't come online until they meet their Guide, the person best suited to help them balance these abilities – essentially the other half of their soul. Neither Sentinel nor Guide can come online until they are at least twenty years of age. So, essentially, when Sir Anthony visits Downton in 1x05, this is the first time an encounter would have resulted in them being matched as Edith is at least twenty years old in 1912.

 **Disclaimer:** Sequel to "Preconceptions (preconceived, prejudice or just plain puzzled)" and takes place almost immediate after that story finished. – Contains: period appropriate behavior/language/thoughts/actions/etc, animal traits/behaviors, romantic intimacy and sensuality.

 **Resolutions (received, rational and rather rapturous)**

 _ **Chapter Three**_

They returned to Downton after their nuptials and an extended period traveling abroad, wholly changed in many respects and much the same in others. They were animated, settled and quite confident in both manner and bearing. Secure and peaceable in each other and the world at large, if the life of a Sentinel and Guide could ever boast such a thing.

The time to get to know each other and navigate their bond had settled them comfortably in an intimate way that many couples were never able to reach. Their affection for each other clear to all that witnessed them together. And indeed, many tried. Despite their absence they were still very much the talk amongst society. Indeed, by the time they came to call on the estate Downton hadn't been so full of guests and laughter in years.

He was speaking to Lady Isobel of their time in Rome when a silent ripple of emotional upset made him look up. Having just enough time to notice Edith angling towards him, to excuse himself and meet her halfway. Ignoring the stares of the others in favor of pressing a chaste kiss into her hair.

It was all rather shockingly public, but he didn't care a wit. Feeling her ruffled feathers sooth themselves somewhat now that they were touching as he escorted her over to the terrace and through the doors onto the garden with the excuse of needing some air.

"What is it, my dear?" he asked softly, pleased when she settled herself in the crook of his arm with thoughtless grace. Allowing him to direct her as they inspected the afternoon blooms.

"I fear I have discovered how terribly shallow the world can be," his wife hummed. Clearly still bothered about whatever had occurred as he vaguely kept up with the whispered conversations going on inside. They were the feature of almost every one. Just as they'd been when they'd arrived. Slightly mollified to hear that the foreign air had apparently 'agreed' with his complexion. "Everyone wants to be around me because of _what_ I am, not _who_ I am."

"Ah," he answered, understanding the dilemma keenly. "We did speak of this when we were away, did we not, my darling? Trust me when I tell you the loss of their company will not affect you in the slightest. We have been given a gift, of sorts. Peoples insincerity and fortitude are open to us now. As upsetting as some of those discoveries can be."

She smiled, wan and slightly tired. Clearly feeling the emotional drain – just as he was – from being around so many people for a prolonged period. They felt it in different ways, to be sure. But the end result was the same. She suffered from emotional fatigue due to her empathetic gifts while he had to be careful not to get over simulated when it came to his senses.

They walked for a while in companionable silence. Fingers laced and exceedingly comfortable just being immersed in one another. The sounds of the estate humming through his senses in a pleasant tide of changeable impressions and rhythms.

"I must confess I had hoped that Mary's upset would temper while we were gone," Edith commented after a time. "Though it seems like it's only worsened. I didn't believe I would ever feel sorry for her in my life, but I find that I do now. Now that I can sense of source of it."

His nose twitched, recalling the ever present metallic scent of tension whenever they were in the same room together.

"Indeed, do wish her and Matthew would get on with it," he groused without heat, mirroring his wife's pity for the would-be couple. "For my sake if nothing else. They set my nerves on edge even when they're yards from each other."

She pealed a laugh, delighted, as her feet skipped down the path. Making him smile all the wider before he cast his senses back towards the main house. Ever watchful. Pleased to overhear the servants idle chatter. And, perhaps more importantly, Thomas' obvious evasion when one of the party-goers inquired where they'd gotten off too. Sending them on what was likely to be a wild goose chase in the complete opposite direction with an audible smirk. He would have to thank the fellow before they left. And indeed, extend an offer of employment to his own house if the man ever chose to leave Downton Abby.

He was aware it was something of a step down as far as prestige went. But Thomas struck him as someone that desired the affluence that came with upward advancement. And by his reckoning, Carson had many more years left to him yet. Thomas, for all his flaws, had proven himself exceeding capable and surprisingly loyal once such bonds had been made and tended. He wished to cultivate that feeling further, if allowed.

Besides, Edith was quite fond of him.

"And you, my dear?" he hazarded. Because altered as he was, he was still himself. Still host to the same weaknesses, the same worries. "Do you believe you've chosen wisely - in spite of everything?"

She frowned, looking up at him as their progress down the path stuttered to a halt.

"Not this again."

"Hear me out darling, he soothed. Well aware he was about to feel the repercussions of his poorly voiced words. Finding it impossible to mitigate the damage despite his long hours of reading and education. Ultimately only adding to it instead as the world curved around them. Knowing better than to track it lest he zone out like he had just hours before the wedding. Brought around by the soothing hum of her voice and the gentle righteousness of her touch as she called him all sorts of a doddering idiot for trying to test his little theory of being able to sense the world's rotation under his feet. "You cannot deny one of us didn't get the better deal."

But she shook her head, determined.

"How so? I have a husband, a good man whom I know inherently. A man that loves me for myself just as much as for my purpose. Who treats me as an equal, a partner in this venture- in this shared future we have together. Do you think so little of yourself to ignore what a rarity that is?" she insisted, eyes wet and voice impassioned as he reeled her in. Needing her close as they embraced in the cooling afternoon sun. Feeling her rouged cheeks rubbing against his overcoat with soothing frequency. Need comfort and giving it all at the same time.

"I would rather be happy for a short time than miserable forever. I'm glad this happened. I don't care how it sounds. I have half a mind to believe that if things were different you would likely leave me at the alter! Out of some bloody noble form of sacrifice no doubt- and...and the thought- it scares the life out of me!" she continued, tone growingly angry like the thought itself was seeped in poison.

And he could feel it, rising like a surge of nausea inside her blood.

Because it was true, of course.

He likely would have.

To save her?

 _He would do anything._

 _Especially if it was from himself._

A skiff of early leaves skittered past. Whispering words left unsaid as he sensed a storm building past the horizon. It was barely there, but it was enough for him to take note for when they returned. To inform Carson to be prepared with extra candles if the weather front did indeed manifest itself.

"I would have," he admitted quietly. Weighed down by the crushing arc of a possible future where he'd done exactly that. Watching her through some queer internal mirror as she ran through her family's great halls. White dress swirling. Ripping off her headdress and finery to sob wordlessly into the linens of her childhood bed. "And I would have hated myself for it for the rest of my life."

She snorted. Surprising him enough that he stalled halfway through the next step. The sound absolutely indelicate but undeniably her as she looked up at him fiercely. Hands on her hips.

"Well, _bully_ that," she blustered, looking him right in the eye with a fierce expression. "You are _mine_ , Anthony Strallan. And I mean to keep you. You would do well to remember that!"

He smiled. Ducking his chin into his collar as the fine cotton-down rubbed pleasantly against his chin. _Truly, how could he forget?_

The kiss they shared afterwards was far fiercer than he could attest to having ever initiated in mixed company. It was something he got caught up in. Seizing her bodily around the waist and crushing her to him - like the softness of rose petals arcing to bloom under the press of a gardener's thumb. Encouraging a growl from him unbidden even as he colored at the slip. Hastening to their rooms to sort themselves out until sometime later when Mr. Bates knocked on the door with a quiet cough. Informing them it was half an hour to supper, in case they'd lost track of time, as Edith muffled laughter into the pillows.

Which, of course they had.

Edith's laughter was a present fixture inside his skin for the rest of the evening.

And naturally, he wouldn't have had it any other way.

* * *

 **A/N:** Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think. – This story is now complete.


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